The Oxford Bar
Edinburgh, Scotland
It's barely a place at all. Yet, hidden behind a small door on an elegant and ancient street is a quintessential representation of Scottish nature. Yes, it's still in operation and, no, they don't serve haggis.
I lived in Edinburgh when I was a teenager and learned many things, some of which have remained useful. How to conjugate in Latin, for example [Who knew in those days how much of my adult working life would be untangling Latin phrasing?], the off-sides rule in soccer, and how to order a beer in a public house. If the latter one shocks you, other portions of my life would put you in a coma.
I lived in Edinburgh when I was a teenager and learned many things, some of which have remained useful. How to conjugate in Latin, for example [Who knew in those days how much of my adult working life would be untangling Latin phrasing?], the off-sides rule in soccer, and how to order a beer in a public house. If the latter one shocks you, other portions of my life would put you in a coma.
You see, in those days a fifteen-year-old from the States looked like a twenty-something from The Borders and I was never challenged. Since even movie theaters had bars in them, my cousins and I would enliven our viewings of "Dirty Harry", "The Cowboys", and other fare designed to display America's blood-lust to foreign audiences with "a pint of lager" or "a half-pint of Tartan Special". It was wonderfully civilized.
As was life in Edinburgh. In my weekend outfit of tweed jacket, corduroy pants, and turtleneck jumper [my sartorial tastes haven't changed much in the intervening years] we would appreciate the scene in the city's New Town section. The combination of traditional architecture and Sixties/Seventies pop culture collided uneasily in some spots, but a day out was always an education.
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| A standard Edinburgh scene, circa 1972 |
In the midst of all of that mod newness were dull, stodgy places in the active part of the city that we avoided, as they seemed to be only for the middle-aged guys in their gray suits who were wearing ties from their schools or regiments. Little did I realize that one of those venerable doors permitted entry into a storied gathering place of Midlothian history. It would take, of all things, a series of mystery novels to reveal its splendor.
The Oxford Bar on Young Street dates from 1811 [that's why it's in Edinburgh's New Town section; the old town is older still] and is the preferred hangout of fictional Edinburgh detective, John Rebus. Like his character, the bar is unpretentious. In fact, what I really appreciate about it these days is that it doesn't promote its relationship with the novels [and a handful of TV shows]. There are no t-shirts, hats, or mugs adorned with Rebus' name or likeness to be found. There may be some photo on the wall of the show's cast, but it's small and so out of the way that, as I note, I'm not really sure where it is. Given that the bar is small and usually quiet means it's the direct opposite of that grotty place in Boston that decided it was a bar from a popular sitcom and turned itself into a tour bus stop.
In fact, the biggest criticism I've overheard is that it's an "old man's pub and there are too many of those in Edinburgh". Well, not if you're an old man. It has a fireplace, inexpensive beer that is equally unpretentious [none of that "craft beer" nonsense] and a steady pour of blended Scotch. The bartender will not overwhelm you with his greeting. He may not greet you at all other than to grunt. The patrons, as long as you're not a glee-eyed, glaked Yank, will leave you to your own devices to read the paper or a book. If you wish, a convivial conversation may be had, but that's not required. Just don't initiate it and certainly don't mention Rebus.
I have found it advantageous to wear my Royal High School tie, however. The black-and-white "old boys" version, not the silly, newer, "co-educational" one. That actually opens a lot of doors in Edinburgh.
It's interesting, isn't it, that the things that repel us in youth are those we seek in our older years?
Even when the author of the Rebus novels appears, which is regularly as he lives in the neighborhood, he's treated so normally that if you don't know what he looks like, you would be none the wiser as to his presence.
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| He's the one looking at us. No, don't look back at him; just don't. |
